


Inferno

by Liron_aria



Series: The Sam Winchester School of Hunting [18]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hell, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Dean gets his ass handed to him a lot, F/M, Jacob is Claire's cheerleader, Knight of Hell Dean Winchester, yes I wrote an AU fanfic of my AU fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liron_aria/pseuds/Liron_aria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - After Dean becomes a Knight of Hell it takes a while to actually make his way down <i>to</i> Hell, too busy enjoying himself topside. When when he finally gets there, it's nothing like he expected.</p><p>For starters, Crowley's dead, and his little brother and little brother's dead girlfriend are King and Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inferno

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BunkBuddyLucifer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BunkBuddyLucifer/gifts).



> A very belated birthday present to the delightful BunkBuddyLucifer!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

It takes Dean a while before he makes his way to Hell.

 

He’s free, unburdened by duty and responsibility and the constant, sickening _need_ to watch out for Sam, protect Sam, clean up after his dumbass mistakes, and he takes full advantage of that.

 

He’s free to indulge in whatever catches his fancy - alcohol and women and bloodlust and _no one can stop him._

 

So Hell never really popped up on his radar, with its rules and hierarchy and whatever fucking Crowley wanted - though it did beg the question of what happened to him, because Dean hadn’t seen him since he woke up as a Knight of Hell. If he had to guess, he’d say Sam iced him; it seems like something Sam would do.

 

Whatever.

 

He saw Sam once, wiped the floor with his sorry ass, and hasn’t seen or heard from him since. Probably went back to the Bunker to lick his wounds and wring his hands and drown himself in his tears.

 

It ain’t Dean’s problem anymore.

 

So when he finally makes his way to Hell, it’s more out of boredom than anything else. He might as well go see who’s in charge down there and tell them to leave him alone, or he’ll gank their sorry ass. That would leave him in the unfortunate position of being Hell’s next ruler, but whatever. As far as he’s concerned, Hell can go to, well, Hell.

 

But Hell… it’s a surprise, honestly.

 

It reminds him of the chaos and terror and pain it was when he first came down after his deal, and it’s nothing like the endless lines and boredom under Crowley.

 

Hunh. Guess whoever’s in charge now might actually know what they’re doing.

 

As he makes his way down, he finds that the younger demons, the weaker ones, are terrified of him, which they pretty much should be, and he runs a few of them through with his Blade, just because he can. But the older demons…

 

Dean hears the whispers, about the Demon King and his Reaper Queen. Hears the praises and terror they inspire.

 

The closer he gets to the Throne Room, the more fervour he hears, of a King who remade Hell in his image, and the Queen who is his sword. He can already feel the power emanating from the room, crawling under his skin and pulling him forward. The room itself is like a palace courtyard, with high ceilings and pillars and a few demons milling around, talking and apparently working.

 

And in the centre is Sam.

 

It’s funny, he doesn’t _look_ like a king. He’s lounging across some kind of fancy sofa like a Roman god, his head on Jess’ lap as he licks something off her fingers. He’s in jeans and a T-shirt, his long legs spread out and his T-shirt rucked up to reveal an inch of skin above his waistband. Jess is in a _Stanford letter jacket_ of all things, and a tank top and jean shorts. She’s wearing cowgirl boots; he’s barefoot.

 

But even at the edges of the throne room, Sam’s power is almost suffocating. It’s magnetic, leaving no doubt that he could kill anyone who crossed him, even Dean, with a snap of his fingers. There’s an ease and confidence in him, control and steady awareness that leaves Dean sure that his presence was noticed long before he even entered.

 

He’s never been more in awe of his brother, more terrified.

 

Sam tilts his head towards him, and a smile spreads out across his face, eyes crinkling and dimples flashing. “Hey, Dean!”

 

Dean’s fist clenches around the First Blade. What the Hell is happening here?

 

Sam’s smile turns wry at Dean’s motion and he huffs a small laugh.

 

“Care for some pomegranate, Dean?” Jess asks in amusement, holding a kernel between her fingers.

 

Sam arches his head back and steals it from her.

 

Dean would tell them to get a room, if he could breathe. What the Hell is happening to him, he’s a fucking Knight of Hell and he’s beaten his little brother so many times before, certainly wiped the floor with him as a demon - so why is this time so much different?!

 

Sam rolls up, shifting his feet to the ground and stretching his arms above his head languorously, his shirt lifting up even further. His every movement is filled with a sinuous grace, and Dean wants to look away, but he’s trapped in the same allure as the other demons around him.

 

Sam smiles again, that open, kind smile that makes Dean’s fingers itch around his Blade. It’s not the smile he wants to see on Sam’s face, he looked better terrified at Dean’s feet, arms up to shield himself.

 

“I’m glad you came, Dean,” Sam continues, seemingly unaware of the black hate burning through Dean, “I was waiting.”

 

“Yeah?” Dean grinds out, “Well, here I am.”

 

“Yes,” a female voice drawls from beside Dean, “And about time, too.”

 

It can’t be.

 

“You’re _dead_ ,” Dean snarls, reaching for the Blade.

 

“Oh, I was,” Abaddon replies dismissively, “Our Lord brought me back.”

 

 _Our Lord_. The phrase sits uncomfortable and acrid beneath Dean’s sternum, more uncomfortable because of how _true_ it feels.

 

“It’s an easy enough ritual,” Sam comments, “Kill one Knight and transfer their essence to the remnants of another. Let’s be real, Cain wasn’t much use to anyone.”

 

“As an added bonus,” Abaddon grins, flicking her hand, and the Blades flies out of Dean’s hands and into hers, “I get to do this.”

 

Abaddon stabs a nearby demon and it lights up, screaming as it burns out of existence. “Mmm. Music to my ears.”

 

Abaddon turns to Sam and Jess, bowing. “My King. My Queen.”

 

Sam nods, but Jess rolls her eyes, setting down the pomegranate she’d been feeding Sam. “Always with the formalities. What’s up?”

 

Abaddon straightens up with a put-upon expression. “There’s a witch being… difficult about entering Hell. Somehow he’s managed to control the Veil, and is blocking one of the Gates.”

 

“And, being a dead soul, that puts it under my jurisdiction. Alright, I’m coming.”

 

Jess stands, absently dusting off her shorts, and Sam grabs her hand as she leaves, bringing it to his lips reverently. Even Abaddon rolls her eyes at the unadorned _worship_ in his eyes, and Jess trails her fingers along his cheek lovingly. “I’ll be back soon, baby.”

 

Sam lets her go, leaning back, and Jess hooks arms with Abaddon. The women make their way out chattering - about boots?! - Leaving Dean with Sam.

 

Dean clears his throat, fists clenching on empty air, because the Blade’s still with Abaddon, and no matter how hard he pulls, he can’t bring it back. “So.”

 

Sam straightens with a short nod, and snaps his fingers twice.

 

Every demon in the room freezes, their attention riveted on their King.

 

“You’re dismissed,” Sam calls out, his voice ringing with power and authority, “You can return when I’m finished.”

 

His words aren’t any fancier than normal, but even the oldest of demons scurries out of the room with ‘yes, my Lord’ in that mix of awe and terror that Sam seems to inspire.

 

“You want to sit down?” Sam asks when the room is clear, and he peels back his power.

 

Dean’s inwardly horrified that his shoulders sag and a relieved breath escapes him out his permission. He twists his expression in a sneer. “I’m good.”

 

Sam shrugs, unfazed, his expression still so fucking open and earnest. “Sure. It’s really good to see you, Dean! I’ve missed you.”

 

Dean snorts. “Yeah, I bet you have. Ruling Hell must be a pretty big job for just you.”

 

Sam shrugs. “Well, I’ve got Jess, but once I established power, the demons pretty much fell in line.”

 

Dean crosses his arms. “How’d that happen, anyway? Last I checked, demons weren’t exactly fond of you.”

 

Sam smiles wryly. “Well, you can’t throw a guy into the darkest part of Hell without getting to know him, I guess. Until now, the ones topside were just… playing their part.”

 

Dean’s eyes widen in surprise. “So - what? You _lied_ to me this whole time?! I was busy pulling your ass out the fire every five minutes and you were ruling Hell behind my back?”

 

Sam’s eyebrows rise mildly, the complete opposite of the effect Dean wants his words to have on Sam. “Back then you weren’t particularly fond of anything to do with me and Hell, so I didn’t bring it up. I wasn’t going to publicly claim the throne until you went to Heaven - I didn’t want to hurt you.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Right. Because lying to me has _never_ hurt me. Glad to know your opinion on family hasn’t changed, _brother._ ”

 

Sam’s power stirs, but he doesn’t let it loose, just looks particularly unimpressed.

 

“Was it all a lie? The Wall, the hallucinations, the _Trials?_ ”

 

Sam sighs, gaze turning inward as he pieces together his story. “Not exactly. After Cas pulled my body out of the Cage, my soul was free to absorb Lucifer’s grace. It took a lot of trial and error and more than a millennia to do it, but I finally managed to strip him of his grace and pull it all into myself. I started taking over after that, and soulless-me was pretty good at putting the fear of God into demons himself. The Wall…”

 

Sam smirked. “Death didn’t bother once he saw what I’d done in Hell, just sent me back to my body. I’d say I did a pretty good job pretending, if it convinced Cas to ‘break’ my Wall.”

 

Dean glowers, and Sam continues calmly, “Cas’ grace was… tainted, and the grace inside me didn’t take really well to it. So the hallucinations? Completely real. Lucifer’s last revenge, I guess.” Sam shrugs. “I still managed to consolidate my power base, and got my followers to keep it quiet as long as you were around - demons like a good con every now and then. Like I said, I didn’t want to hurt you. After Cas took his grace back, I was back at full power, and when I thought you died, I walked back into Hell.”

 

“That’s when I came in,” Jess announces, and Dean turns to see her return without Abaddon. She moves to Sam and kisses him lightly, before continuing, “After _I_ died, I became one of Death’s best and most powerful Reapers. When Sam was ready to take over Hell for good, I went with him. Boss wasn’t thrilled, but I guess He was curious what would happen.” Jess grins. “I think it’s gone pretty well.”

 

“I was just about to deal with Crowley when you came back,” Sam says with a rueful sigh, “I’d still kept my identity quiet, because I didn’t want him to see me coming. But with you back on Earth… I didn’t want to put you through knowing your brother had become everything you fought so hard against. That’s why I did the Trials - I wanted to give you a happy ending, and with the Gates closed, I could rule my kingdom in peace.”

 

“And then you put yourself on the road to becoming a demon, and here we are,” Jess concludes.

 

Here they are. Sam’s power seems magnified now, with Jess standing at his side, and Dean’s gut churns again. He scoffs, trying again to regain the upper hand. “So you went from being an angel condom to actually just having Lucifer’s juice in you, and became Azazel’s Boy King after all. Dad would be _real_ proud of you, right, Sammy?”

 

John was a fucking sad sack of misery, but he’s always been a useful tool against Sam -

 

Dean barely sees Jess’ fist coming before he’s flat on his back, half his face _screaming_ in agony. He can feel bone slowly start to knit itself back together, and _Christ_ , she’d broken his cheekbone!

 

“Don’t. You. _**Dare**_ _._ Speak to your King that way.”

 

Dean picks himself up, snarling, “He’s my little brother, and I’ll damn well-“

 

“ _ **He is your King.**_ ”

 

Jess stalks to him, glowing with her own power, reminding Dean of shadows and howling and _death_. Her fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping painfully against his scalp, and Dean realises that she’s taller than him in her heels. Dimly, from a faraway, perfect world, he remembers that she’s normally just an inch shorter than him, anyway.

 

Right now, it feels like she’s looming over him, wrath in the lines of her face.

 

“Kneel before your King,” she demands, inexorable strength pushing against his head and neck, and his knees lock, thighs and calves straining with the effort of staying upright.

 

Sam looks at them calmly, his power unfurling again and slamming into Dean. It’s being trapped between a typhoon and an earthquake.

 

“ _ **Kneel**_.”

 

Dean kneels.

 

* * *

 

Adam stretches as he makes his way to the Throne Room, working out the kinks in his muscles and feeling Michael’s grace stir inside him. It had taken him more than twice as long as Sam to his the archangel of his grace, because Michael fought tooth and nail after seeing what Sam did to Lucifer. But still, he’d done it, and stood by Sam every step of the way as he conquered Hell.

 

He stops short when he sees who’s standing in front of Sam.

 

“Well, well,” Adam drawls, “If it isn’t the little demon that could.”

 

Dean spins around sharply. “Adam?!”

 

“In the flesh, princess.”

 

“What the Hell?! You’re supposed to be -“

 

“- Michael’s chew toy?” Adam offers, “Yeah, that worked about as well for Michael as it did for Lucifer.

 

“So you’re all hopped up on angel juice, too?” Dean mutters.

 

Adam grins, flaring his grace, and the ground cracks under his feet, the light from fire and molten lava shining through. The air around them heats up, the air around him shimmering like wings. He blinks his glowing white eyes, replying, “Oh, you have no idea.”

 

“Enjoying the fireworks?”

 

Adam turns cheerfully towards Sam, releasing his hold on his grace and allowing the air and the ground to return to normal. “Yup! Great start to my morning.”

 

Sam laughs and Adam’s grin widens. All these years, and he _still_ gets a thrill from making Sam laugh, because it makes him feel like he’s giving back just a little bit after everything Sam’s done for him.

 

“So what’s up?”

 

“I’m going up to Heaven for a bit, and then heading to India, just figured I’d let you know.”

 

Sam’s eyebrows rise. “India? Am I going to get you back in one piece, or do I need to start making funeral arrangements?

 

“Hey, Kali likes me!” Adam insists.

 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Only because you’re as incorrigible as Gabriel.”

 

Adam just grins, turning to leave with a jaunty wave. Behind him, he hears Dean’s incredulous _‘What the fuck, Sam?!’_ and laughs.

 

Oh, Dean has so many surprises coming his way now that he’s part of Hell.

 

* * *

 

“So you’re Metatron.”

 

Metatron looks up to see a young man standing nonchalantly in front of his cell. Human, by the looks of it. “And you are?”

 

A bright flare of Michael’s grace is the last thing Metatron ever sees.

 

Adam glances down, unimpressed, at Metatron’s corpse, and yawns, leaning against the wall and waiting for Heaven’s guard to come rushing in. They were much faster in Michael’s day, much greater in number, too.

 

But, he supposes, that’s what happens when half of Heaven gets slaughtered by one of their own.

 

He’s about to give up and flare his grace again, when Castiel finally bursts in, flanked by two female angels.

 

“Who are you?!” Castiel demands.

 

“Aw, you don’t remember me, Castiel?” Adam mocks, “I’m _hurt._ ”

 

Castiel pales. “… Adam Milligan.”

 

Adam smirks. “Bingo.”

 

“How - this is impossible.” Castiel’s subordinates are looking at him warily now, concerned by his shaky voice. “You should still be in the Cage.”

 

“I mean, seeing as you left me there, I can see why you’d think that. But here I am.”

 

“You - you have Michael’s grace in you,” one of the other angels whispers, and she looks like she doesn’t know whether to run him through or throw herself at his feet.

 

Michael was the leader of angels, after all, their best, their most trusted, their dauntless leader, closest to God.

 

“Yup, I do,” Adam replies simply.

 

“You killed Metatron.”

 

“ _Excellent_ deduction, Sherlock.”

 

The angel frowns. “My name is Rebecca.”

 

“… Oh good Christ.”

 

“It is a literary reference, Rebecca,” Castiel explains, “Pertaining to the greatest detective of all time, Sherlock Holmes.”

 

Adam rolls his eyes.

 

“But - _why?_ ” Rebecca’s companion cries.

 

Adam cocks and eyebrow. “Because he was a smarmy little shit fucking up everyone’s plans? Because he tried to kill my big brother?”

 

Castiel’s gaze grows sorrowful. “Metatron _did_ kill Dean, Adam.”

 

Adam snorts. “Who said I was talking about Dean? As far as I’m concerned, the only big brother I have is Sam.” Adam’s expression turns vicious. “ _He’s_ the one who protected me in the Cage for over six millennia. Dean wanted to leave me there to _rot._ ”

 

“That’s not -“

 

“Anyway,” Adam says cheerfully, talking over him, ”How's ruling Heaven going, Castiel?"

 

"I am not Heaven's ruler," Castiel denies.

 

"Oh, right, you're usually too busy slaughtering your kin to rule."

 

Castiel at least has the grace to look ashamed.

 

“Don’t speak to Castiel that way!” Rebecca protests, and Adam has to commend her for her loyalty, at least - misguided as it is.

 

“… No, he literally slaughtered half of you in his war with Raphael.”

 

Castiel sighs. “That was a long time ago, Adam. I am… I am a different person now.”

 

Adam’s pretty sure he fails at keeping his sheer incredulousness off his face.

 

“I… am not even touching that with a ten-foot-pole. Sam might buy that shit, but not me, Feathers.”

 

Castiel’s expression tightens at the mention of Sam, and the angels behind him scowl.

 

Adam huffs bitterly, stepping up into Castiel’s personal space. He tilts Castiel's head up, blunt fingernails digging into his chin. "Oh, if I could show you but a _tenth_ of what you made my brother suffer..."

 

"I took on his pain," Castiel struggles to reply, "I know -"

 

Adam rams Castiel's jaw up, shutting his mouth with a sharp clack. "You think that measly sliver of _your_ tainted grace meant anything? My brother spent millennia subduing the grace of an _archangel_ \- _all_ of it - on his own. You have no _idea_ what pain and strength that took."

 

"Do you know how much grace it would take to burn you out?" Adam muses, his grace drawing to the surface of his skin. He grins at the fear entering the angel's eyes and freezes Castiel’s lackey’s in place with a thought. "Not even a _drop_."

 

Adam sighs and shoves Castiel away. "But, Sam would be sad if I did that, and he'd make disappointed faces at me for a year.”

 

And also Sam’s promised the angel to Claire, but Castiel can find _that_ out for himself.

 

* * *

 

Chains rattle as the young man strains to break free.

 

“For the last time, it’s not going to work,” A blonde says, rolling her eyes.

 

Claire’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, trying to meditate despite the struggling angel in front of her. Her eyes fall shut, and she slowly relaxes her body to run through the training exercises Sam set for her. Focus her energy inward, sink into herself until she found her soul. She’s had the aid of spells before, but now it was time for her to do it herself.

 

Focus.

 

“Yo, Claire, you in?”

 

Claire blinks her eyes open, concentration broken. “Jake?”

 

Jacob strolls into her room and she rises to her feet, dusting off her jeans. Jacob’s lips are suspiciously red, and his eyes are bright gold. He grins and pulls her close. “Hey, Claire.”

 

“Mmph - Jacob, no, what have I told you about kissing me after you’ve eaten?”

 

Jacob leers. “That I can lick the blood right back off you?”

 

Claire rolls her eyes and shoves at his shoulder. “You’ve been spending too much time around Ben. Go get cleaned up.”

 

Jacob pouts, and scans the room, smirking at the trapped angel. “Who’s the celestial turkey?”

 

The angel snarls, trying to leap towards Jacob.

 

Claire and Jacob look at him, unimpressed, before Claire replies, “Cassius, mid-level seraph. If I can strip his grace, I’ll be able to move on.”

 

Jacob smiles softly. “Adam’s bringing him soon, isn’t he?”

 

Claire’s eyes gleam viciously, and Jacob laughs over Cassius’ screams.

 

* * *

 

Jacob runs a towel over his hair as he leans against the doorway. Claire’s standing in front of Cassius, tapping her angel blade against her lips thoughtfully. She stands tall and proud, looking… ethereal. He can feel the power coiled tight inside her, feel it slumbering in the stillness of the room.

 

Sam had come to him over four years ago, freshly recrowned. He’d offered him and his Mom a place in his court - arbiters, free to eat people, as long as they were sinners.

 

And then Dean killed his mother, and threatened to kill him.

 

For being a _monster._

 

Jacob’s lips twitch into a smirk. Who’s the monster now?

 

Sam found him a few weeks after his mother’s death, when he was about to be killed by a biker he’d tried to mug. He remembers Sam’s eyes blazing icy white as he pinned the man to the wall, his hand on Jacob’s shoulder to hold him back protectively.

 

He knew Sam wasn’t his father. But at that moment, he had never wished for anything _more._

 

Sam forced the man to his knees, cold and austere, standing aside as Jacob ate his fill. And ten minutes later, thirteen years old with barely any idea what he was doing, he knelt and swore his loyalty.

 

He hasn’t regretted it since.

 

Jacob watches as Claire presses the blade to Cassius’ neck, ignoring the angel’s thrashing.

 

“Knock it off,” Claire warns, “You’re going to make a mess.”

 

Jacob’s the one who brought Claire to Sam’s court.

 

He met her when he was bored and she was bitter. Sam had returned to Dean’s side, covertly running his empire, and Jacob wasn’t particularly thrilled to leave his King, his father, alone topside. So he hung around nearby, close enough to keep an eye on Sam, but far enough away to avoid detection.

 

And then Claire happened.

 

Beautiful, clever Claire, with a razor sharp tongue and the same simmering darkness in her eyes that he had in his. Claire, whose smile lit up the room, who sat with him in the middle of the night and stared up at the stars, who used him as a test subject whenever she wanted to try new recipes. Terrifying, ass-kicking Claire, with a core of hatred and crippling, unending grief in her heart for her dead father.

 

He knew what that was like.

 

It didn’t take much to convince her to join the court, just an offer of power and a promise to help her kill Castiel.

 

She hasn’t regretted joining, either. Why would she, when Sam is her King?

 

Sam’s ruthless and powerful and fierce, but he’s also compassionate and gentle. He teaches them, trains them, protects them. He’s frighteningly intelligent, and he shares that knowledge with them, he’s patient and encouraging, and everything they’ve all been searching for - the father Ben and Claire lost, the father Jacob and Jesse never had.

 

Cassius chokes and gasps as Claire slices a line across his neck, blood dripping free and white-blue light shining from the cut.

 

Jacob tenses - this is the crucial moment. Absorbing grace is tricky, especially when an angel is alive and clawing to keep it within itself. The last time Claire tried, it nearly burned her out, and the halls of Hell had rung with her screams. Sam had smitten the angel on the spot, his wrath keeping all of Hell cowed until Claire healed.

 

The power in the room shifts and Claire parts her lips. Grace starts seeping out of Cassius, before flooding forth like a river.

 

Claire swallows it down.

 

Cassius screams.

 

Jacob strides forward the minute Cassius falls limp. “Claire -“

 

Claire throws out a hand, freezing him in place.

 

Actually freezing him.

 

It _worked._

 

Claire smiles slowly as she turns to face Jacob, and the room flares with grace for a moment, shadows of wings appearing from Claire back. They’re not like Adam’s wings, forge of heat and fire, or Sam’s, cold and glorious and infinite.

 

Claire lowers her arm and the pressure eases off Jacob. “It worked,” she whispers and Jacob tackles her with a whoop.

 

Claire yelps. “Jacob!”

 

Jacob grins, spinning her around and ignoring the sparks of grace singing his skin. “You did it, babe! How’s it feel?”

 

Claire’s attention focuses inward. “It’s… chaotic. It doesn’t quite fit, and Cassius’ intent hasn’t faded yet. He’s still fighting.”

 

Jacob’s brow furrows. “Are you gonna be alright?”

 

Claire’s eyes flash white for a moment, but she nods. “Yeah. I can already feel the grace settling down.”

 

“And the soul-melding thing?”

 

Claire’s lips purse and she muses, “I don’t think it’ll last, not like Castiel’s - and _his_ stolen grace drained out pretty quickly, too, before he recovered his own. Good power boost, though.”

 

Jacob grins, kissing his girlfriend lightly. “Awesome.”

 

* * *

 

“But _Saaaaaaam…_ ”

 

“No, Jacob.”

 

Jacob pouts from his seat, sprawled across a sofa in Sam’s suite. Jess bites down on a laugh at Sam’s put-upon expression.

 

“Come on,” the kitsune wheedles, and promptly does _not_ shriek when a mass of shadow and smoke throws itself on him and knocks him to the ground. “What -“

 

There’s a huff, and the smoke solidifies into a Hellhound, very intently trying to lick Jacob’s face off.

 

“Oh my God - eurgh - get - off - _Jesse!”_

 

There’s a laugh from the doorway and Jesse Turner trails in, grinning mischievously. He whistles and the Hellhound disperses, reappearing at Jesse’s side as a sleek black cat.

 

“… The Hell is that.”

 

“It’s a matagot,” Jesse replies, “French mischief spirit.” He reaches down and scoops up the matagot, which reforms into a fox. “His name’s Noël.”

 

Sam laughs. “Welcome back, Jes. How was France?”

 

Jesse’s expression brightens as he hugs Sam and Jess. “It was _awesome._ Odette says ‘hi’ by the way.”

 

‘Odette?’ Jacob mouths, and Jess explains, “A white witch I made friends with a few years ago.”

 

“So what’s Jacob whining about now?” Jesse asks, dropping himself onto the sofa.

 

“Hey!” Jacob yelps, scrambling up and shoving at Jesse.

 

“He wants to get Claire an island for her birthday,” Sam replies dryly.

 

Jesse stares at Jacob. “Dude. You’re a Prince of Hell, not Donald Trump.”

 

“I don’t see how this bars me from annexing an island for Claire,” Jacob responds huffily. “Come _on_ , Sam, just a small one? Like, a baby Polynesian island?”

 

“No, Jacob.”

 

Jacob groans and flops back against the pillows. Jesse rolls his eyes. “Can’t you just get her, I don’t know, flowers, or chocolate like a normal person?”

 

Jacob responds with a stink-eye. “I’m a Prince of Hell, I can’t get my girlfriend just _flowers._ Wait, Jess, what did Sam get you for your birthdays at Stanford?”

 

“You mean apart from an engagement ring?”

 

Sam chokes on his tongue and sputters while Jacob turns bright red. _“Jess!”_

 

Jess laughs and Sam clears his throat loudly. “How’s Ben doing? I haven’t seen him around today.”

 

“Yeah, that’d be my fault,” Jacob says sheepishly. “I brought back a couple souls for him to play with.”

 

Sam’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Didn’t you already feed recently?”

 

“Serial killers! They were serial killers, and the cops weren’t getting anywhere!”

 

Jess chuckles. “We understand that, Jacob, but you can’t go around doing everyone’s jobs for them.”

 

Jacob crosses his arms, pouting.

 

* * *

 

It’s a few days later when Adam returns to Heaven, laughter and irate Sanskrit scolding behind him.

 

He flares his grace sharply, calling out, “Yo, Castiel!”

 

Castiel appears in front of him with a soft flutter. “Adam. What brings you to Heaven?”

 

Adam rolls his neck. “Sam wants to meet.”

 

Castiel blinks. “Sam…?”

 

“Yeah, the guy whose head you tried to break?” Adam sneers.

 

Castiel frowns. “Why does Sam want to meet me?”

 

Adam shrugs. “Rulers of Heaven and Hell meeting? I don’t know, something about diplomacy, you know how Sam is.”

 

“I am not the ruler of Heaven.”

 

Adam looks unimpressed. “Seriously? Then who actually runs things around here? Or have you all converted to anarchism?”

 

It takes Castiel a moment to process Adam’s words, before he frowns. “No. There is order in Heaven. Hannah, Flagstaff and I -“

 

“Never send a man to do a woman’s job?” Adam teases.

 

Castiel looks sour. “What is this meeting about?”

 

“Come and find out.”

 

Castiel looks uneasy, but nods. Adam smirks.

 

Justice is sweet.

 

* * *

 

“Sam.”

 

Sam smiles when Adam brings Castiel to the throne room. “Cas!

 

Castiel inclines his head, his expression neutral. “Sam.”

 

“Welcome to my kingdom.” Sam’s smile is slow and sharp, a king talking to a peasant.

 

Castiel’s grace stirs under his skin, both fearful and wanting in the presence of his older brother’s grace. “Why am I here? Heaven needs me.”

 

“What, no time to talk to an old friend?”

 

“You are not my friend. Not anymore,” Castiel replies gravely, “The Sam Winchester I knew would never become… this.”

 

Sam laughs and Castiel wonders where the rest of his court is. His contacts have told him of Sam’s Queen, the corrupted Jessica Moore, and the Antichrist Sam named his Heir. The humans he’s tricked to follow him, seduced them to serve Hell’s purposes.

 

“Sure, Cas.” Sam stands from his throne, straight-backed and at his full height. The last time Castiel saw him like this was when he was missing his soul. The same arrogance and ruthlessness cloaks him like a second skin.

 

“What do you want?” he asks again, glaring.

 

There’s something cold in Sam’s eyes, and it has nothing to do with Lucifer. This darkness is all Sam, and Castiel wonders how he missed it all these years. The angels had been right, years ago - the Boy With the Demon Blood, Sam Winchester, is an _Abomination_.

 

Sam keeps smiling, a ruthless, smug thing, and replies, “It’s going to be a bit of a discussion, and I have a crisis to resolve, so Adam will show you where to wait. I’ll be back as soon as I can, and we can get down to business.”

 

A chill runs down Castiel’s spine, but Adam’s grip is iron around his arm, and they disappear in a blink.

 

* * *

 

Castiel looks at the extensive spell lattice Adam flew him into. “Adam, what is this?”

 

Claire steps out of the shadows, a malicious grin on her face. “This, Castiel, is you getting your due.”

 

“… Claire?” Castiel stares at the blonde girl with wide eyes. She looks completely different from the twelve-year-old he left behind, but the tiny spark of grace he left in her when he possessed her year ago calls out to him.

 

“You remember me, I’m touched,” Claire replies, her voice saccharine, and an angel blade appears in her hand.

 

“Claire, what are you doing?”

 

Adam snorts. “Wow, you really are dumb as a post.”

 

“No comments from the peanut gallery,” Claire chides.

 

Adam rolls his eyes. “Sure, Inigo.”

 

Castiel frowned. “Inigo… Montoya? From the Princess Bride -“ Castiel stops short when he makes the connection.

 

Claire smirks. “You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

 

Castiel summons his sword, and it bucks in his grip before it vanishes.

 

“Looking for this?” Adam twirls Castiel’s angel sword in his hand, before hurling it forward.

 

Castiel ducks, and Adam laughs. Castiel looks back up to see Adam waving the sword at him. “Gotcha.”

 

Claire flicks her hand, and the angel sword flies from Adam’s hand to hers. “I could have used a Grigori sword for this, since that’s the next best thing to an archangel sword, but all the archangels are dead. Yours’ll do in a pinch.”

 

Claire presses the tip to her thumb, drawing blood. She squeezes her finger as blood wells up, crouching down to let a few drops fall on a sigil. She steps back and smirked, slow and deep. _< <Bind.>>_

 

Claire’s voice is roughened by the end of the word, unused to the harsh angelic language, but the spell lattice lights up at her feet, gold beams shooting up towards the ceiling from eight points around the lattice and white energy carving its way through the ground in a complex concentric pattern.

 

“Claire, what are you doing?” Castiel demands warily.

 

“Go ahead,” Claire mocks, “Fly, little bird.”

 

Castiel gathers his energy -

 

\- And cries out as a bolt of pain tears through his grace, knocking him down to his sees. He feels a crushing weight pressing down on him, on his grace, and he can’t move, can’t leave, can’t do _anything_.

 

Claire’s black boots tap lightly on the stone floor as she steps forward, and tilts Castiel’s head up with his blade under his chin.

 

“Claire, please -“ Castiel rasps, “You don’t want to do this -“

 

Claire scoffs. “Oh, I really, really do. I’ve been wanting to do this for _years_ , and I joined the Hell’s Court just for this opportunity.”

 

“Jimmy’s in Heaven!” Castiel cried desperately, swallowing convulsively.

 

“I know.”

 

Castiel’s grace still, and mutes.

 

No.

 

Please, Father, no.

 

Claire’s smile widens at the terror and realisation in the seraph’s eyes.

 

“You know what I’m going to do to you.”

 

“ _Please._ ”

 

“Music to my ears. << _Unbind. >>_

 

Castiel screams.

 

His grace tears free, bucking and surging wildly out of his hold. It _burns_ , screaming, vicious, racing towards Claire, no, no, it’s _his,_ please -

 

“I could have just killed you and taken your grace,” Claire says conversationally, “But I want you to _know_ , what it feels like, to be _trapped_ , powerless in the face of wild, unimaginable power. To know what it feels like to be _subsumed._ ”

 

“Claire -“ Castiel chokes out, “I - I’m sor-ry -“

 

“What good does that do me?” Claire asks archly, “It won’t give me back my father, the years of _grief_ and _pain_ I’ve lived through.”

 

Claire reaches out psychically and _pulls._

 

_Castiel screams._

 

He wants to thrash, to buck away, _anything_ to relieve the pain. He catches a glimpse of something moving in the shadows, and Jacob Pond steps forward, tall and broad-shouldered with feral eyes. Beside him is Ben Braeden, leering, still bloody. He sees Jesse Turner, shadows wrapping around him like a cloak, eyes dark and gleaming - he should have killed the Antichrist all those years ago.

 

And then -

 

And then -

 

“Dean -“ Castiel croaks out, begging, but there’s no Dean here, just Sam standing behind Claire, smirking cruelly and watching his former friend - were they ever friends? - scream in agony. Jess and Adam stand beside him, tall and haughty and amused.

 

“Please,” Castiel begs one more time, scrabbling for any _shred_ of mercy, but there’s none to be found.

 

Castiel’s eyes and mouth glow bright blue-white, a thin stream of energy making its way to Claire. The room crackles with energy, the ground under them rumbling. Sam gestures Jess and the others back, watching as Castiel’s essence flows into Claire.

 

Adam’s the first to leave, taking the press of Michael’s grace with him so as not to interfere with Claire’s work. Jess and Jesse were next, two more powerhouses freeing up the room for Claire to let loose. Ben grins and disappears with a jaunty wave. Jacob stays, watching Claire intently, but Sam pulls him away gently.

 

This is Claire’s fight, and Claire’s alone.

 

* * *

 

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”

 

Sam’s throne room looks different now, Sam and Jess’ thrones looking like actual thrones and not the lounge they’d used before. They sit on a raised dais, and Jesse sprawls on one of the lower steps. Jacob paces before them, eyes golden and claws growing and shortening repeatedly.

 

“I should be in there.”

 

“This is Claire’s fight, Jake,” Jess replies calmly.

 

“But -“

 

“Trust her.”

 

Jacob falls silent at Sam’s gentle words, anxiety still lining his features. Sam makes his way down the steps and grabs Jacob’s shoulder, steadying him. “Jake. She’s got this.” Sam’s expression was fond and proud. “She’ll be fine.”

 

As if on cue, the doors to the throne room fly open, and Claire stands in the doorway, glowing slightly, her hair fluttering in an unseen wind.

 

The tension drains out from Jacob, replaced by relief and his customary adoration. “Claire…”

 

Claire strides forward, kneeling gracefully at Sam’s feet. “My King.”

 

“Claire,” Sam acknowledges, “How’d it go?”

 

Claire looks up from her position and flares her grace, dark shadows of wings spreading out from her back.

 

Jacob lets out a whoop of laughter and cheers, pulling Claire up into a hug. “Hell yeah!”

 

Claire laughs as Jacob spins her around. “Jake - mmph!”

 

“Ewww,” Jesse complains with a roll of his eyes, “Get a room.”

 

Claire swats her boyfriend lightly and steps out of his embrace. “At least he’s already eaten.”

 

Claire turns to Sam, eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you, Sam.” She tackles him in a hug. “ _Thank you._ I couldn’t have done _any_ of this without you teaching me.”

 

Sam returns her embrace, smiling proudly. “You did good, Claire. You did so good.”

 

Claire grins.

 

* * *

 

Abaddon lets the man whose throat she’s just slit fall to the ground. He gives a wet gurgle, bloody spittle bubbling up at the corner of his lips, before falling still, eyes empty. Somali warlords, what’s a girl to do?

 

She looks around the decrepit village, taking stock of the rivulets of blood running down the dirt streets and the mangled corpses everywhere. A shrill scream tears through the air, stopping short abruptly. It’s a beautiful sound, but Abaddon narrows her eyes suspiciously.

 

That sounded suspiciously like a child screaming.

 

And if there’s one thing Sam has scored into all his subjects, it’s that children are _off limits._

 

She has no doubt that if she ever crossed the line now, he wouldn’t hesitate to snap his fingers and erase her completely. And the only other person here…

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

Bright carmine lips stretch into a grin, and Abaddon steps over the body, making her way to the source of the noise.

 

Dean stands about the broken bodies of several villagers, two little girls bleeding onto his boot. He’s got blood everywhere, actually, sprayed across his clothes and face, which she thinks is pretty tacky. If you’re going to run around all bloody, at least make it tasteful, make a point.

 

“Someone’s having fun.”

 

Dean turns on her, eyes inky black, mouth stretched in a grin. “Like what you see, sweetheart?”

 

Abaddon scoffs. “Don’t even bother. You know Sam’s going to kill you when we get back, right?”

 

Dean rolls his eyes, twirling the First Blade. “Hey, he’s the one who let us loose. If he doesn’t like the results, that’s on him.”

 

“No, it’s on _us,_ ” Abaddon snarls, “Our Lord commanded us to never hurt children. We kill the murderers, the rapists, the filth of the Earth to our hearts’ content. Never children.”

 

“Yeah, Sammy always did have a soft heart. Weak. I’m surprised he’s lasted this long in Hell with it. Guess Jess is -“

 

Abaddon has Dean pressed flat on the ground, hands wrapped around his neck before he can blink. Her eyes blaze pure _murder._ “Don’t you _ever_ speak of our King and Queen that way.”

 

Dean shifts under her, leering. “Aw, honey, if you wanted something, you just had to ask.”

 

Abaddon’s grip tightens, but before she can respond, the two of them are blasted apart, slammed into opposing walls.

 

“ _Who did this?!”_

 

In the centre of the room, standing over a child’s dead body, is the utterly _furious_ form of Jesse Turner.

 

“ _ **Who did this?!”**_ Jesse roars, shadows whipping around him, the ground rumbling and cracking under him.

 

“Jes -“

 

“ _ **Shut up.”**_

 

Dean chokes, straining against Jesse’s power to no available.

 

“Children. Are. _Off. Limits._ ” Jesse snarls, “ **Your King has ordered it.** ”

 

“Sam-my can take his orders and sh- _**gah!**_ ”

 

A series of loud crunches signify Jesse crushing Dean’s ribs with stony expression. He watches as Dean gags and spits out blood, then flicks his hand, vanishing the First Blade and anything Dean or Abaddon could use as weapons and allows them to drop to the floor.

 

Abaddon immediately kneels, head bowed. “My Prince.”

 

Jesse looks at her dismissively, and says flatly, “Do you know what happened a few minutes ago? Sam and I were holding court when Jess stormed in, spitting fury and grief, because of the _horde_ of children’s souls flooding the Veil. _**Children.”**_

 

Abaddon’s gaze cuts to Dean, and Jesse’s anger sears through them like a sword. He’s not as powerful as Sam, or even Jess because he’s still young, but he can still exert his control over demons like a master.

 

“ _Dean,_ ” he spits, “I should have known.”

 

“Yeah?” Dean snarls belligerently, “You think you can do anything about it, _boy?”_

 

“ _ **Silence.”**_

 

Dean chokes on air, the muscles of his neck straining as he tries to speak. Jesse watches impassively, and Abaddon feels a frisson of fear run down her spine and he walks past her measuredly.

 

“ _ **Do you know who I am?”**_ Jesse asks softly, keeping Dean pinned down with his power and crouching down beside him. _**“I am the Antichrist. I am the Heir to Throne of Hell. Yes. Yes, I think there is PLENTY I can do to you.”**_

 

Abaddon and Dean’s ears ring with the inexorable power backing Jesse’s speech. Jesse stands, making a fist and flinging his hand to the side. Dean flies through the air, crashing through the wall of the building and stopping short, still under Jesse’s power.

 

“Go ahead,” Jesse says as he watches Dean’s muscles strain as he floats in mid-air. “Try and break free.”

 

Dean can’t.

 

Jesse snorts and lets Dean drop to the ground. “Let’s go. Sam wants to see you.”

 

* * *

 

When Jesse, Dean, and Abaddon return to the throne room, it’s ornate, severe, and formal. Sam and Jess sit on their thrones atop a raised dais with several steps. Adam stands behind Sam and Jess arms crossed on top of the backs of their thrones, while Jacob lounges one step below Sam and Jess, looking down laconically like a cat.

 

Jesse and Abaddon immediately kneel, with Jesse forcing Dean to kneel as well. “My King, my Queen.”

 

“Jesse,” Jess acknowledges, “What did you find?”

 

Jesse shoves Dean forward.

 

“ _Jesus fuck -“_

 

“Quiet.”

 

Jess makes her way down the stairs with a face like thunder, and this time, she’s not wearing a Stanford jacket and cowboy boots. She looks every inch a queen, now, wearing a black sheath dress with red hemming and sharp black heels with red soles. “I should have known,” she says tightly, “Dean Winchester. Do you know what we do to lawbreakers in our Kingdom, Dean?”

 

Dean sneers up at her, but he can’t fight the terror suddenly gripping his heart. “You’re not gonna touch me, Sammy won’t let you.”

 

Jess raises an eyebrow, turning back to Sam.

 

“Dean, you’re my brother, and I love you,” Sam replies calmly, “But I am also your King, and this is _my_ Kingdom.”

 

“I am your _family!_ ”

 

Jacob shoots to his feet, snarling, “ _We’re_ his family, douchebag.” Jacob’s eyes turn bright gold and slitted, his claws lengthening. “This is pointless, Sam, give him to me. I’ll set him straight.”

 

Sam stands and steps down to clasp Jacob’s shoulder. They make a sharp contrast, with Jacob in dark green and jeans, and Sam in a very familiar all-white suit and shoes. “No, Jacob,” Sam continues in that same, even tone. “Jesse, go with Adam and find Claire. Debrief, and clean up.”

 

“Yes, Sam,” the boys murmur.

 

“Abaddon, Jacob, take Dean down to the Rack.” Sam eyes are hard and cold. “I think Dean could do with a refresher course on how Hell works.”

 

Jacob grins wide and feral, and Abaddon replies, “Yes, my Lord.”

 

Sam’s power floods the courtroom slamming into every demon and bystander watching. “Dismissed!”

 

* * *

 

“You know,” Jacob says and he and Abaddon drag Dean through the corridors of Hell, “I already hate your guts, so my opinion of you can’t go any lower, but what the _Hell_ possessed you to go against Sam’s orders like that?”

 

Dean just growls, and Jacob digs his claws a little deeper into Dean’s arm, drawing more blood. Abaddon’s in front of them, holding Dean in place with her own psychic energy. The redheaded night looks back with a smirk and shrugs. “Sam’s the Winchester with foresight.”

 

“Good point. Yo, Braeden, look alive.”

 

Dean jerks. “What the _fuck?!”_

 

Ben steps away from the Rack, grinning delightedly. “Oh, _please_ tell me this is an early birthday present.”

 

Jacob laughs. “Something like that. Figured you two could use some quality time.”

 

Ben’s expression lights up as he looks Dean over. “Aw, you couldn’t bring me a fresh palette?”

 

Abaddon rolls her eyes at the coy smile Ben throws her way. “If _you_ want to take it up with Jesse, be my guest.”

 

“I can think of plenty of things I’d rather do, to be honest.”

 

Abaddon scoffs, shoving Dean forward, ignoring his hiss and Jacob’s claws tore through flesh and muscle as Dean was ripped away from his grip. “You already get one present. Don’t push your luck.”

 

Ben flashes her a charming smile. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, my Lady.”

 

Jacob coughs something resembling ‘flirt’ into his fist and Ben tosses him an irritated look. Jacob smiles back innocently, starting to lick Dean’s blood off his claws.

 

“Go be gross with your girlfriend, Fox Boy,” Ben grouses, dragging Dean forward, “Some of us have actual _work_ to do.”

 

* * *

 

Dean hasn’t missed the screaming and agonised moaning flooding the air on the Rack.

 

He hasn’t missed meat hooks and chains and bloody holes in his body.

 

He hasn’t missed the constant cycle of renewal, of his body being made whole just to be shredded again.

 

He does miss Alistair giving him the choice to take up the knife after every session, though. Ben has no such interest.

 

Dean spits out a loose tooth, glaring up at Ben. The old Dean, the one that _cared_ thought Ben was his _son._ Now? He just wants to tear the little bitch’s throat out. “Sammy’s got you totally brainwashed, hasn’t he?” Dean sneers.

 

Ben looks up from cleaning his tools, curious. “What?”

 

“Guy tortures you, turns you into a demon, and you’re his little _lapdog.”_

 

If Dean was hoping for a reaction from Ben, he doesn’t get it.

 

The teen just rolls his eyes. “There are more ways to create a demon than just torture, dumbass. I mean, look at _you._ What, you think Lucifer tortured Lilith into a demon? Nah, man, there are plenty of other ways. Spells, rituals… This? Was completely painless, and actually kinda fun.”

 

“Your Mom know the freak you turned into?”

 

Dean gets the reaction he finally wants from Ben, along with an injection of holy water. Ben smirks in satisfaction as Dean screams, thrashing in his chains and driving the meat hooks deeper into his tendons.

 

“You,” Ben warns, stepping up to Dean after he stops screaming, “Don’t get to talk about her. You don’t even get to _think_ about her, which I figure is fair, since you and your feathery not-boyfriend wiped her mind.” Ben turns back to his tools, searching for his next selection. “You wiped mine, too, which was _so_ much help when the demons came for us. They strangled her with her own intestines, you know, before Sam came.”

 

Ben picks up a scalpel, lightly running it along Dean’s stomach. “Do you know that feels like, Dean? To be alive when someone pulls your guts out of you and then wraps them around your neck?”

 

Dean spits in Ben’s face. “You planning on doing something, punk, or are you just going to _bore_ me to death? Gotta say, _that’d_ be a new way to go out.”

 

Ben snorts. “You should be so lucky. Don’t worry, Dean, I’ve learned _plenty_ of new tricks, that even Alistair didn’t know.” Ben holds up his scalpel. “Now, which eye do you want to lose first?”

 

* * *

 

It’s been rare in recent days that Sam gets to see all the kids in one place, all of them having settled into their roles and responsibilities in Hell long ago. But right now, Claire’s shrieking in laughter as Jacob tickles her, and Adam and Ben are wrestling and breaking furniture while Jesse holds court with several young demons staring at him in awe.

 

Noël makes a sudden appearance between Adam and Ben, and both boys will deny to the end of time that they yelped like scared little puppies when the matagot appeared between them. Abaddon’s talking shop with Belphegor and several older demons as they go over an old map mapping out territories of different gods. Claire’s grace flares for a moment, and she grins smugly as Jacob falls back on his ass.

 

He feels a flush of pride, seeing how much they’ve all grown. Claire has her revenge on Castiel, his grace stripped the way Sam and Adam stripped Lucifer and Michael’s grace from them. Adam doesn’t need his protection from angry archangels anymore, instead powerful enough to cow any deities thinking about standing against Sam.

 

Jacob and Ben have grown from angry, lost boys grieving their mothers to his most trusted enforcers, bright-eyed and vibrant and always, always ready to support their younger brother. And Jesse’s learning and growing so much, taking to his role as Heir with aplomb, his smile like the sun when he looks back at Sam and Jess.

 

Jess is snuggled up against him, reading what he’s pretty sure is the original manuscript of _Gilgamesh_. And Dean…

 

“What are you thinking about?”

 

Sam smiles down at Jess, kissing her temple. “Nothing. I’m just happy.”

 

Jess grins. “Good. There’s plenty to be happy about.”

 

Sam looks out over his Kingdom, over his children and his Court and his subjects, and listens to the cries of the souls being punished.

 

Yeah. There is.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, thoughts? Comments? Let me know!


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